San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1887-01-15

smiles. II was always fond of writing;
/ think il was because | was such a
lonely child. / had many fanciful
thoughts about the lives of the flowers
and the trees. / used TO write them
down, because aunt Bessie did not like
to hear me talk about them. Then af-
forwards, when l grew older, my life
was so quiet, so mOnotonOus, chat |
used TO weave stories and romances for
my own amusement. When l was
seventeen, thought how much should
like to write a book. l began the one
you have read then; but when my aunt
became great invalid laid il aside,
and almost forgot it. After that came
the bright summer when you loved and
married me. My life seemed so filled
up that | had no time for framing
stories. You said one day that YOU
would never marry woman who wrote;
so l made up my mind that moment TO
burn all my papers. l dared not tell
you how fond | was Of writing, and
how lOnged to produce book. was
afraid you would give me up II l did,
and never love me any more.n
"What a senseless, selfish fellow I
was!" interrupted Charley.
May" said May, You had right to
your own opinions. I burned all my
short stories that night, Charley; but
when came to my book Icould not de-
stroy it; so locked it away, and decid-
ed to ask you at another time to let me
finish il"
And what then?" asked Charley, see
ing that his wife stopped abruptly.
"Why, then, Charley-pleaSe do not
be angry with me; could not help it.
See" she continued, growing excited az
GnnlEA-ssHnnl1 ct %
from shining, the birds from singing,
the flowers trCm blOoming!'
No, acknowledged Charley, Il could
not.n
Nor could l." said his wife solemnly,
"restrain my desire to write. l could
not help myself: the thoughts would
come, the words would come, and was
obliged to write them down. So, after
we came here. during the hours you
were away from home | finished my
book. l took ii myself TO several pub
fishers, and one bought it. l always
thought you would forgive me and be
pleased, dear, when you saw the book
in print. i did not mean to tell you un-
til then. ] pictured TO myself how
should bring it to You and what you
would say. was always very careful
not to leave any papers about. 1cannot
tell how that leaf got into my desk. 1t
must have been by q mistake. You
know the rest, Charley"
Yes" said her husband sadly, II
know the rest. | am not worthy of you,
May. As you know, people say you are
a genius"
"Do they?" questioned his wife mer-
rily. "They know nothing at all about
it. l don't believe have bit genius
in me; but, Charley; l viii promise
never to deceive you again. l will
never write any more"
But Ruthven would take no such
promise. He candidly avowed that his
prejudice had been very unjust one;
and he gave it up gracefully, owning
that he had been wrong.
The books were put back in their
places, and May Ruthven did not re-
turn to Upton. as she meant to do. That
was the first and last misunderstanding
they ever had. Charley says now,
Each one to his vOcation-mine is
fighting, my wife's is writing"
They went to India together; but
there is a rumOr that Ruthven's regi-
ment will soon be ordered home. The
world knows now VINO wrote A Lies
Mistake, and Mrs. Ruthven is one of the
most admired writers of the day. She
is best pleased when she hears her hus-
band say TO his friends
Yes. my wife writes beautiful books;
but tell you what she does, sir, be-
sides. She makes the incest of pud-
dings, keeps most orderly house, and
dresses more neatly than anybody |
know. Besides which" he continues
in a solemn whisper, ''since have been
married have never had to sew but
ton on myself-yOu understand"
And, coming from Charley Ruthven,
his wife thinks that very high praise.
c. NJ. b.